


If Wishes Were Horses

by bayoublackjack



Series: Love in London [23]
Category: Elementary (TV), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/M, Male-Female Friendship, Multiple Crossovers, POV Molly Hooper, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Sherlock Holmes & Molly Hooper Friendship, Sherlock Holmes and Feelings, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-28 03:07:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2716610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bayoublackjack/pseuds/bayoublackjack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While out for the afternoon with Sherlock, Molly realizes that they share a surprising trait in common.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If Wishes Were Horses

The calming influence of sleepover had long since worn off and Molly spent the past few weeks in an uncharacteristically foul mood.  Outside of feeding time, even Toby had taken to keeping his distance.  And he wasn’t the only one.

Molly oscillated between wanting to see Sherlock in order to clear the air and wanting to see him to give him another good slap.  Neither event would come to pass however, for the next time she crossed paths with a Holmes it was the elder of the two detectives.

Molly was just stepping out for a quick lunch when she found Sherlock waiting for her outside of the morgue.  “Will you go somewhere with me?” he asked as soon as he laid eyes on her.

“Of course,” Molly said answered without hesitation.

The last time Sherlock dragged her off somewhere they ended up at a pub then went back to her place afterwards.  Not that Molly was looking for a repeat of their one night stand.  Her love life was complicated enough already.  However, whatever she was expecting from their latest excursion, it definitely wasn’t for him to bring her along for one of his recovery meetings.

Both Holmes brothers had dealt with addiction, but Molly noticed early on that this one was more open to talking about it than the other.  She reckoned that was Joan’s influence.

Molly remained at the back of the room while Sherlock and the others talked through their issues.  When the meeting seemed as though it was drawing to a close, she stepped out into the hallway to wait for him.

“Are you an addict?” a blonde with an American accent suddenly asked.

Molly didn’t immediately recognise her, but she assumed that she must have come from inside the meeting.  “No.  I’m here with someone actually.”  Molly lifted her hand to gesture towards Sherlock, whose back was turned to them, and the woman quickly grasped her hand, inspecting it closely.

“You have the most  _exquisitely_ delicate fingers,” she appraised with a bright smile.    “Quite elegant really.”  She met Molly’s eyes with a disarmingly intense stare.  “Do you work with your hands?”

“I work with corpses,” Molly answered nervously.

“How gruesome,” the blonde joked.  “Sorry.  I’m an artist so I’m  _obsessed_ with details,” she added as she released Molly’s hand.  “Among other things.”  She sighed softly.  “Hence the meeting.”

Molly nodded politely while protectively cradling her hand close to herself.  She looked at Sherlock again, hoping he’d finish soon.

“Are you a couple?”

Molly turned to the woman, who was now watching Sherlock with interest.  “No.  Nothing like that,” she insisted.  “We’re just mates.”

The blonde faced her with another bright smile.  “Everyone should be so lucky,” she replied, sparing Sherlock another glance before walking away without another word.

Molly would be lying if she said the exchange hadn’t unnerved her a bit, but she tried her best not to be judgmental.  A short time later, Sherlock approached her while pulling his coat on.  “I think I was almost picked up just now,” she told him as they headed for the door together.

“I would advise against attempting to forge a meaningful connection with an addict until establishing their level of dedication to recovery,” Sherlock said as they exited to the street.

Molly’s thought drifted to Sherlock and her already sullen mood plummeted a bit more.

“Would you care to chat?”

“No,” Molly responded quickly only to change her mind a moment later.  “Why would he do that?” she asked softly.

“By  _that_ you are in fact referring to your afternoon of coitus with my brother?”

Molly frowned at his word choice, but nodded all the same.  “Why would he give me hope then snatch it away?”

“Because he’s an idiot,” Sherlock answered.  “He is a genius, mind you, but brilliance, unfortunately, does not absolve one from the odd fit of idiocy.”

Molly sighed sadly.  “I just can’t understand how he could be so tender and loving one second and then just…cold.”

“It’s easier for him not to feel,” Sherlock said.  “He’s calls his feelings distractions, and they are, but it’s more than that.  So much more.”  He paused.  “They’re an inconvenience and I don’t mean that facetiously.  For someone with a mind like his…like mine…clarity is essential.  Emotions are complicated and murky.  They cloud your judgement.  Challenge all manner of logically reasoning.  It can be quite overwhelming…intensely so…to the point that you want nothing more than to numb yourself to them completely.  As you can understand, that is an especially dangerous prospect for an addict.”

“I understand that,” Molly insisted.  “Really I do.  It’s just…for those perfect, precious few moments, I was sure that Sherlock felt the same about me as I do for him.”

Sherlock halted his movement and turned to face her and Molly followed suit.  “As much as it pains me to say, my brother and I are alike in many ways.  When comes to emotions especially,” he told her seriously.  “We conduct ourselves as though we are above matters of the heart.  Love is a game we fail to understand.  As such…we opt not to play.”

Molly watched him attentively as he spoke and to her surprise, Sherlock seemed more vulnerable than usual.  “Have you ever been in love?”

Sherlock silently held her gaze for a long time before answering.  “Yes,” he said simply then resumed walking.

Molly hurried to catch up.  “Why did you bring me here?” she questioned.

“I needed to talk about my feelings.”

“I understand that but…why me?  Why not Joan?”

Sherlock paused thoughtfully before answering.  “Watson’s presence would not have been conducive to this particular endeavour.” 

“Did you have a row?”

“On the contrary, our relationship has managed to flourish in spite of the several changes incurred due to our relocation from New York to London and her subsequent nuptials.”

“Then I’m confused,” Molly told him.  “Why couldn’t you just bring Joan with you?  She was your sober companion.”

"Accent on  _was_ .”

“And she’s your best mate…right?”

“I’ve cultivated not one, but several meaningful relationships over the years, but Watson does stand out amongst them all,” he acknowledged.

“So why?”  Molly questioned.  Sherlock turned his gaze to her and Molly suddenly felt weird for asking such an intrusive question.  Her Sherlock never talked about himself in this way.  Why should she expect any different from his brother.  “You don’t have to tell me,” she added upon lull in the conversation.

“Watson, John that is, asked me a question recently,” Sherlock informed her as he looked ahead again.  “It was a question I did not answer at the time, but to which I shall now divulge my response to you.”

“Okay,” Molly replied.  She wasn’t exactly sure where this was going, but he listened to her when she rambled so she’d extend the same courtesy to him.

“I think this is the very epitome of love,” Sherlock began.  “Love understands love; it needs no talk.  Sunlight needs no paraphernalia of pipes, and wicks, and burners; it just shines out, direct and immediate.  And the few dewdrop flashes it back in the same way.  The sparkle may be tiny, but it is true and immediate; it needs no vehicle.”

“That’s beautiful,” Molly said with the faintest hint of a smile.

“It’s a quote by Frances Ridley Havergal,” he told her.  “Of course she was speaking of love from God, but I believe at its essence it applies to all manner of love.”

Molly nodded.  “I think so too,” she agreed.

“Whether it is acknowledged or not…love simply… _exists_ .”

Molly stared at his profile as his words played in her head.  “What was the question?  You said that was your response to John’s question,” she reminded him.  “So what was the question?”

Sherlock paused thoughtfully before speaking.  “He inquired about the  _nature_ of my feelings towards Watson.”

Molly let his words sink in before a tiny frown formed on her face.  “John thinks you fancy Joan?”

“I’m not a teenager.  I don’t  _fancy_ anyone.”

“So…do you  _love_ her?” she pressed.

Sherlock glanced at her then looked ahead.  “In a matter of speaking.”

Suddenly a lot of things made sense to Molly.  The way Sherlock understood and sympathised with Molly and her situation with his brother.  Had it been because he too had feelings for someone he didn’t think he could have?  “Do you remember how you said my sleeping with you was transference?” Molly asked.

“I recall.”

“When we had sex…were you…were you thinking about…Joan?”

“No,” Sherlock answered honestly.  “The only one I had in mind at the time was you,” he assured her, sparing her a glance as proof of the validity of his words. “And while I’m quite certain Watson would make for a spirited sexual partner, I harbour no such inclinations towards her.  My feelings require no vehicle.  They simply exist independent of a need for reciprocation.”

Molly sighed softly.  “I wish it was that simple for me.”

“If wishes were horse, beggars would ride,” Sherlock retorted.


End file.
